


I Don't Sleep

by DancesWithTurians



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Other, graphic depiction of the effects of insomnia plus a terrible sense of humor, nihlus is dramatic, nihlus kryik/caffeine, no reapers AU because i say so, saren and nihlus live AU, saren thinks he's funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 18:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19431937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancesWithTurians/pseuds/DancesWithTurians
Summary: In an AU where Saren and Nihlus end up on the Normandy, shenanigans ensue. Nihlus considers praying to his ancestors for reprieve. Or at least turian space coffee.





	I Don't Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BluebutActuallyGrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluebutActuallyGrey/gifts).



Nihlus wandered out of the cabin he shared with Saren, half-asleep and deeply in need of kava. Around the corner, the steady drone of mumbled morning conversation mixed with the burble of terran coffeemakers. He was learning to like the scent of coffee. It was acrid and terrible, don’t get him wrong, but the smell of it these days meant he was about to have kava in short order. Also breakfast. Shuffled steps took him around the elevator and over to the mess, where he dug a kettle out of an overhead cabinet. It was filled with water from the dispenser, and he leaned on the counter to stare down at it blankly while it heated. Lulled halfway back to sleep by the susurrus of flat human boots and equally flat human voices, he almost missed the question directed at him by ensign Dubyansky entirely.

“...-tre? Spectre Kryik?”

He sucked in a slow, deep lungful of air over his teeth, straightening up off the counter to blink at the dark haired human. Dubyansky stared back for a moment, looking like he was trying and failing to interpret Nihlus’ expression. To his credit, he simply choose to press on. 

“...vhere is Spectre Arterius?” 

Nihlus blinks some more. The human’s pleasantly accented words roll around his translator, then his brain, at approximately the speed of a drunken elcor. Another breath whistles slowly in through his teeth so he can croak out an answer.

“...he’s asleep.” 

The susurrus halts. The coffeemaker does not. It’s merry burbling combined with the Normandy’s warbling, bass hum briefly become the only sounds in the mess. Dubyansky’s stare had become as confused as Nihlus himself was beginning to feel. 

“...pardon?”

“I, uh...” spirits he needed that kava. “He’s sleeping?” 

Even the coffeemaker had grown silent now. Dubyansky’s stare had fallen to the middle distance in front of Nihlus’ keel. This must be what human purgatory was like- half asleep, utterly confused, and perpetually waiting for caffeine that would never come. 

Over at the table, private Gladstone abruptly slammed a hand down on the polished surface with a bang that clattered the utensils laying upon it. His loudly declared “son of a bITCH!” set off the rest of the assembled crew into chaos. 

Nihlus stood in front of the forgotten kettle, feeling as mentally jumbled as the words that managed to make it through his translator. 

“but he said- we- haa!!- there’s never- I don’t- serious?- (bITCh)- who’s even seen- he fucking _sleeps??!!”_

That last segment of coherent words knocked something loose in Nihlus’ brain. Forget being sleepy, he was suddenly spirits-damned exhausted. Slowly, he rotates back to regard the kettle. It’s little green light blinks cheerful completion of its water-heating mission. In that moment he can’t decide if he hates it or if it’s his best friend in the galaxy. How sad, he thought, that an electric kettle might be a better friend to him than the torin currently in his bed. Who managed to _convince an entire crew of humans he didn’t sleep_. For fun. 

Damn Nihlus’ entire life to the deep.

He raises his omnitool forlornly, and types out five words to Saren. 

<I owe you fifty credits>

There would be utterly no living with him now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Every Normandy crew member at three o'clock in the morning: Why are you awake?
> 
> Saren Arterius, noted insomniac, every single time they ask: I don't sleep. 
> 
> a/n: it's 0400. what is an html vs rich text? i don't know but i'm going to use whichever one works for me first so all of you can enjoy this Experience. Dedicated to bluestreak, who (roughly an hour ago) told me this was hilarious and encouraged me to post it somewhere, and reassured me it came across as at least somewhat coherent. 
> 
> suggestions about writer-y stuff welcome, I do Not know what i'm doing. Will polish later this week and add art for MERweek 2019.


End file.
